


gotta be the good girl

by raven_aorla



Series: we travel in twos (sustain your parallel) [3]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Muslim Dana, Spoilers for Who's a Good Boy?, as in they talk about male beings a bit but they talk about other things as well, standalone fic, you don't have to read the others in the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Dana's talked to the angel that used to be her girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gotta be the good girl

**Author's Note:**

> I don't necessarily agree with the characters' views; I'm just exploring them. I'm sure some things will be Jossed after the hiatus.

"Don't pardon Hiram," said the reverberating whisper the moment Dana got home. The angels were better at sounding human these days. Not perfect, but better.

"Hi, Erika," Dana said tiredly, removing her shoes and absentmindedly reaching for her head before remembering that she'd stopped wearing hijab. She still prayed, still fasted when it was time, but her exposure to the desert otherworld and the sear of the Smiling God had changed her relationship with outward signs of faith. She could get away with acknowledging angels if she wasn't too obvious about it. Mayoral privilege. 

Flutter, step, flutter. "Not Erika. Not to you."

This made Dana look up and take notice. To most people, this angel wouldn't look different from any of the others, but Dana knew the shape of the eyes on its ribs and the little crook in its sixteenth finger. She tried and failed to keep the catch out of her voice. "It's been awhile, Vithya."

"Busy. Fixing Strex. Making opera. Helping Josie clean the roof tiles. Saving Intern Kareem. Keeping an eye on the pawn shop. Listening to Erika-Who-Was-Marcus go on about missing wealth. Fighting the Puppy from Hell. It's like being an intern all over again, except less potentially fatal. Also I can't go to City Hall. You spend so much time at City Hall. I can't protect you when you're at City Hall now that the Council's angel-proofed it." Formerly-Vithya crouched on the kitchen floor in order to peek inside the fridge.

Dana collapsed on the couch. "First, why are you so determined for me not to pardon Hiram? Second, protect me?" She was concerned. No, weary.

"He only tried to kill you. He killed Frank Chen to steal his car and identity. He's eaten people. Violet was complicit...You should eat healthier. This yogurt is actively beating up your apple juice." Formerly-Vithya was right. Dana could hear the tiny screams. "Also, Violet messed with Cecil's mind when his memory's already as full of holes and time paradoxes as Svitz cheese."

Dana wasn't currently planning on pardoning Hiram, though she was considering having his sentence commuted to life rather than death. If he was willing to save Night Vale...and if Violet didn't deserve the verdict...But that wasn't primarily what was on her mind. She should save thoughts like that for when she had all her wits about her and didn't feel such a strong craving to chew a handful of dirt. It wasn't like pardoning someone was straightforward, either, what with the City Council, SSP (especially Sheriff Sam), judge, and the neurotic jail cell's unresolved self-esteem issues. "What are your pronouns these days?"

"They, it, Nonexistent Anomaly. Thanks for asking. Angels can't hear gender." Formerly-Vithya got to their feet again. They seemed at a loss for a moment.

"You're a lot less serene than the last time I saw you." Dana beckoned. "Sit with me if you want. It's okay."

Formerly-Vithya folded themselves onto the couch in a way that didn't appear strictly three-dimensional. "You were safer in the desert. Lonelier, hungrier, maybe in more pain. But safer."

Dana allowed the nearest wing to wrap around her. It was warm and tickly. "Are you happy?" she asked, with the same intonation as the first time she'd asked, two years ago, the first time she'd seen what her girlfriend had become.

"I'd be sadder if I was Vithya. But. The Strangers. They make me feel all cold."

"They're gone."

A voice from inside the linen closet said, "That's because they want to be."

Formerly-Vithya's wing curled a little tighter. Their words were measured. No, precise. "I don't care if you're faceless. Come after her again and I'll scratch your eyes out."

"I have other priorities," came the reply, just this side of haughty.

"Even so."

This shed some light on why the Faceless Old Woman had only ever attacked Dana while she was at work. She wished one of the Erikas, or Josie, had informed her. Saved her some worry. She was about to mention this, but what came out was: "I heard a rumor that a certain court stenographer turned into an angel just before she was set on fire. They couldn't set a nonexistent anomaly on fire."

"Huh." Erikas weren't good at sounding smug, but Vithya had been, and the being sitting with her now was splitting the difference. "You know I can't tell you everything, right? For reasons of fate."

Dana grumbled, but comfortably. She should eat soon, and shower, and all sorts of things, but feathers and safety here, hold on to that before it goes. "Trish comes over sometimes. Does things she doesn't have to. Nice things. I tell her she doesn't have to. She says she takes care of her mayors."

"I understand the sentiment."

"You're not mad?"

"I'm beyond all that now, Dana. The never-human Erikas are surprised I've kept so much as it is. Was-Marcus just kept a touch of brattiness." Formerly-Vithya turned their head, which might have meant they were looking at Dana in a more focused sense than previously. It was hard to tell. "I can stay for about an hour. Have dinner. I'll feel better if you have dinner."

"I'm so tired."

"I know. You're a good girl. A better woman. I saw a cucumber in there. You like those."

"I do." Dana closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, Vithya, real Vithya, was chopping vegetables. She blinked, heart in her throat. 

Then it was Formerly-Vithya, holding out a plate. "Salad with roast tortoise, prickly pear dressing."

"Thank you. Are you around when I can't see you?" Dana accepted the plate and fork. It was tasty. Like her mother made. She should call her mother. She'd missed her brother's first ballet fight, second place, narrowly defeated by Janice Palmer Carlsberg. She hadn't even realized it until Cecil crowed about it on the radio. 

(Literally crowed. She hadn't known he could do that. Carlos, during an appointment to discuss how to mitigate an upcoming scissor fog, said it was just the tip of the weird noise iceberg.) 

"Frequently. How long has it been since you dusted this counter?"

"Dunno." Dana ate, and thought she might sleep well tonight.


End file.
